


Sweet Wine Savarin

by vaeltaa



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Actual Sugar Daddy!Hannibal, Bad Puns, Blow Jobs, Cannibalism, Domestic Fluff, Food Porn, Kitchen Sex, M/M, The Cake Might Be People, cannibal husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-22 01:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaeltaa/pseuds/vaeltaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You can continue beating the cream, until it thickens," Hannibal says without looking at him. "Whip until it's firm."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Wine Savarin

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is available in Chinese [here](http://clockface5.dreamwidth.org/2224.html#cutid1), thanks to clockfaceclockface.

" _The discovery of a new dish confers more happiness on humanity than the discovery of a new star._ "  
\- Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin

He's startled awake to an empty bed and briefly grasps in the dark for a warm body to ground him back into the real world and remind him where - and who, he was. His hands reach out in the gloom but all they find is a lingering heat beside him in the soft sheets.

Will fumbles toward a second pillow and digs his face into it with a sigh, instantly remembering where he was by the smell endued in its fabric. Fresh, clean fabric softener and a hint of the distinctly masculine smell of the hair tonic Hannibal sometimes used. Will breathes into the pillow for a moment, letting the scents soothe his mind and calm his pounding heart.

He lifts his head for a moment, peering toward the night stand for those familiar, digital red numbers when he remembers Hannibal didn't own any digital clocks. He quietly huffs to himself and tries to think of what could've woken him when it was still very much dark out - when suddenly a barrage of sound floats up from downstairs.

Will turns on the bedside lamp with a frown, listening intently from the racket seemingly coming from the kitchen with a hollow metallic crash, clicking of ceramic plates and the low whirring of an electric mixer.

He swings his feet over the side of the tall bed and tip-toes to the door, halting for a moment while the noises continue, mildly dimmed by walls and space. He didn't fully trust his hearing to tell him if the sounds were real or not, but he smiled briefly at the thought of a wild animal - perhaps a raccoon - going berserk in Hannibal's pristine kitchen.

He'd never once hallucinated in this house, this house of warmth and comfort, large unexplored rooms and beautiful things on display. This house where he found solace and rest, and where there was always delicious leftovers in the fridge - almost always better the day after. Will knew Hannibal purposefully put them there for him to find and enjoy, if he awoke from dreams in the night and felt peckish. 

This time, however, he had decidedly not been awoken by a dream, deducing the noises from the kitchen were absolutely not just in his head. He languidly trots into the hallway and descends the dark, oak steps of the staircase to investigate the source of the commotion - his bare feet curling over the smooth grains in the wood as he wraps one of Hannibal's luxurious robes around his body. 

The sounds increase in volume and the heavy, sugared smells of syrup and rum hits his nose as he steps down the last step and enters the kitchen, squinting a little in the lights.

"Good evening, Will," Hannibal says with a smile and switches off the mixer in front of him on the kitchen island. "Did I wake you?" he says as he takes the bowl from the mixer and transfers its doughy contents into a mold. "Good, that was my intent," he continues without waiting for a reply, his deep-set eyes sparkling with thinly veiled amusement.

Will can feel his mouth inelegantly drop open, momentarily at a loss for words while his mind works to process and make sense of the visual it was seeing, his eyebrows raised in mild shock when his brain failed to relay any logical explanation.

"Will," Hannibal continues without looking up from the heated pan where sugar melted into water to become syrup, lightly spiking it with a dash of rum from a bottle of Grand Marnier. "Use your words."

Will blinks rapidly and regains his speech. "You're... _naked_ ," he blurts out, his mental processes unable to think past the doctor's muscular arms spotting the syrupy mixture in the pan with liquor, his normally perfectly coifed hair looking disheveled by sleep and sticking up in places. 

Hannibal chuckles quietly beneath his breath as he stirs the syrup. "Acute observation,"he says and watches the pan, careful not to let the sugar caramelize. "However, not fully a correct one," he finishes with a pointed look towards Will's wide eyed expression. 

"I - I don't think the apron counts as clothing," Will stutters out and distractedly bites his lower lip as his eyes fall to the white fabric tied around the doctor's waist, the lower half of his body hidden behind the island. 

"That is a matter of opinion," Hannibal says and turns around to place the mold into the pre-heated oven, revealing the perfect upper curve of his ass beneath the apron knot, shutting the oven and turning back to face Will with enigmatic eyes. 

"Yes, sure," Will swallows heavily, so grounded in the present moment that he felt as if he'd grown stuck to the floor. "And why are you _nearly_ naked in the kitchen? In the middle of night, I may add."

Hannibal deftly turns down the heat on the plate, stirring the syrup with a cooking ladle using one hand and opening a bottle of dessert wine with the other. He sends Will a nondescript look as he pours the wine into the mixture, gently blending it into the melted sugar.

"It's 12:15. You're in Baltimore, Maryland."

Will recognizes the words, but frowns with confusion as he was usually the one made to utter them to remind him of himself and tether his mind to the world, like a ship anchored in bad weather.

"Your name is Will Graham," he continues and stops stirring, his expression softening as he meets Will's eyes, "- and you were born exactly 36 years ago today."

Watching the realization spread on Will's face, he smiles and begins whipping a bowl of cream, expertly making it airy and light with rapid flicks of his wrist. "I assumed you would forget your own birthday," he says knowingly. "Always bending backwards to care for the needs and wants of others, while losing yourself in the process. I, however - did not forget."

"Oh," Will utters in surprise as the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. He had forgotten, but that wasn't why a knot in his stomach twisted suddenly and shot a intangible ache up through his chest and settled as a lump in his throat.

He didn't have many fond memories of birthdays in the past, always a rushed, hurried thing spent playing by himself in shipyards or in a lonely, humid cabin miles from civilization - his father would often forget. And now, he supposed, he was carrying on the family tradition.

The ache in his chest and slight stinging in his eyes wasn't because he forgot, it was because Hannibal remembered.

"You deserve to be celebrated, Will. I want your day to be special," Hannibal says and fetches a basket of fresh strawberries from the fridge and checking the timer on the oven, watching the batter rise and slowly turn a golden shade of brown. "And, you're also my guest, which means I am in charge of your happiness the entire time you are under my roof."

Will blinks rapidly a few times, taking a breath and stares at the floor until he feels the ache give way to a sudden, overwhelming gratefulness and a surprisingly deep-rooted sense of belonging.

"Wise words by Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin," Hannibal continues while slicing the strawberries lengthwise, seemingly unaware of Will's emotional turmoil on the other side of the kitchen island. "He was a French politician and famed epicure whom coincidentally, this cake is named after."

Will slowly crosses the space between them, stepping around the counter to join Hannibal by his side, a small smile playing on his lips and a determined look in his eyes. He admires the full length of Hannibal's mostly naked form as he cuts the strawberries in quarters and removes their stems. 

"Strawberry _Gâteau Savarin_ ," Hannibal continues as Will edges ever closer. "A light sponge cake soaked in spirited syrup which gives it a, um..." He trails off as Will puts a hand on his arm and forcefully makes him turn face him, pieces of strawberry falling haphazardly to the floor. "Gives it a wonderfully moist - ah, m-mhh..."

Will muffles his voice as his lips connect with Hannibal's mouth, dragging his hand up to dig into his already ruffled hair and coaxing his mouth open with his tongue, lovingly and inelegantly showing his full appreciation.

Hannibal smiles into the kiss and struggles to keep his hands to himself, still sticky with flour and berry juice. Will sucks lightly on Hannibal's full lower lip and lets his hands trail down through his chest hair to his hips, impatiently tugging at the white apron.

"Will," Hannibal mumbles against his face, gently halting his wandering hands and slowly breaking the kiss. "I'd rather not burn the syrup," he says and reaches to stir the pan.

Will obliges with a sigh. "The syrup, yes - of course," he says with a nod and takes a small step back, his eyebrows raised cheekily as he tilts his head for a better view of Hannibal's ass. "Anything I can do to help?" 

"You can continue beating the cream, until it thickens," Hannibal says without looking at him. "Whip until it's firm."

Will does as he's told while trying to stifle the brunt of his laughter, without much success. He felt himself relaxed, at ease and with the exception of his unavoidable erection - calmer than he could remember being for a very long time.

Hannibal places the sliced strawberries back in the bowl and checks on the syrup, now fully cooled in its pan, a warm shade of yellow shine filling the room with a sweet smell. Will watches him dip a middle finger into the sugary mixture and then turning to offer it to Will. "Do you want first taste?"

Will momentarily eyes the dripping sweetness then grabs a hold of Hannibal's wrist and open palm with both hands, catching a drop of syrup on his lips before guiding his finger into his mouth. 

He sucks the melted sugar and summer wine slowly off the warm skin, licking it clean with an eager tongue, delighting in the sweet taste engulfing his mouth and the brief glaze in Hannibal's eyes as he watches him suck on his finger - then two, wrapping his perfectly arched lips around them.

He's hard beneath the thin piece of fabric separating his cock from Will, the apron lifting into a bulge that was decidedly noticeable. Releasing his fingers with a wet pop, Will lets go of his wrist and undoes his robe and grinds his hips into Hannibal's, the friction between the apron and his underwear nearly unbearable.

Will makes to kneel, but Hannibal stops him with a firm grip on his shoulder. "Will, I told you," Hannibal says seriously while meeting his eyes and caressing his scruffy cheek with his thumb. "I am in charge of your happiness, especially today."

"Oh, right," Will lets out a small gasp, smirk playing on the edge of his mouth at the implications of Hannibal's words as his body trembles a little with anticipation. "Okay."

Hannibal yanks Will's shirt over his head and switches their positions so that Will's back is against the counter and with no effort at all pulls his boxers down. Will lifts himself up to sit on of the stainless steel countertop, wrapping his legs around Hannibal's waist and bringing him in close between his thighs.

An empty plastic bowl and several utensils crash to the floor, unheeded. 

Their mouths hungrily meet again, softly nipping at skin and battling tongues, breaking only to breathe for a moment. "Do you need all this syrup?" Will asks curiously while picking up a whole strawberry between two fingers and dipping it into the thick substance.

"No," Hannibal mumbles while kissing his neck and gripping his thighs strongly with both hands, leaning into the other man's body and claiming a spot of skin beneath his ear with his mouth. "I made extra."

Will brings the syrup coated red berry up to Hannibal's mouth with a small smile. "Good, now open wide, Doctor."

Hannibal eagerly takes a bite from the offered strawberry and revels in the mixture of tastes on this palate, the warm sweetness of the liquor and the fresh, coldness of the fruit, and he leans in to share them with Will who moans lightly in response.

Taking a second berry and repeating the process, only this time, Will uses the strawberry to gently paint the cooling, slick, dripping syrup across Hannibal's lips and then leaning in to mouth the sticky sweetness off with his own lips. He licks Hannibal's lips as clean as he can with his tongue, tasting the sugar and the wine and _Hannibal_ while his hands grab at his neck and catch a stray drop running down his chin.

Hannibal pulls away to bend down and take Will's length between his still somewhat sticky lips, kissing the tip before engulfing all of him with his mouth and making sure to run his tongue beneath his cock as he pulls back up. Will fumbles on the now slick countertop as the warm wetness encloses him completely and he blindly grabs a hold of the back of Hannibal's head, steadying himself for leverage lest he, too - would topple to the floor.

Sensing his imbalance, Hannibal steadies him by gripping his waist and pressing down, holding him still on top of the messy kitchen island. Setting a slow rhythm, Hannibal sucks vigorously, taking him deep and roughly earning several hoarse groans from the other man and some violent rasping of nails across his shoulders. 

Hannibal moans around him suddenly, causing Will to buck upwards unexpectedly, nearly lifting himself off the stainless steel but managing to catch himself before he did - grabbing a hold of the other side of the counter with both hands and leaning backwards. " _Fuck_ , Hannibal, yes... _don't_ \- don't stop."

The kitchen is warm and the oven is close by offering yet more heat, and soon both men are covered in a light sheen of sweat and Will is growing close to fulfillment. Hannibal smells his arousal edging toward its peak and prepares to stop just short of it despite Will's plea not to, but the oven's timer goes off first, catching both of them off guard.

"Shit," Will pants heavily, chest rising and falling in a beautiful display on Hannibal's countertop, legs spread wide and his ass leaving sweaty marks on the shiny stainless surface. Hannibal reaches for a kitchen cloth and turns the timer off, opening the oven and taking out the finished golden brown cake and placing it on a cooling rack.

"Your cake is nearly done," Hannibal smiles as the kitchen fills with the scent of warm baked goods, crisp on top and waiting to be filled with the syrupy mixture.

"So am I," Will chuckles breathlessly and watches as Hannibal pours the syrup over the cake and ladles it into the round mold, drenching the cake in what would eventually give it its signature moist texture and delicate flavor.

"It simply needs to rest and soak up the moisture, and -"

" _Hannibal_ ," Will exclaims from behind him, interrupting his crooning and fussing over the cake with an amused huff. "Forget the damn cake and come back here."

Hannibal obliges, snapping out of his culinary reverie and turning back towards a sweaty, indignant Will Graham. "I'm sorry, Will. Where were we?"

Will scoots down from the countertop and wraps his hands around Hannibal's waist to untie the apron, fumbling a little with the knot before it finally comes loose and Will flings it aside, revealing the doctor's rather impressive length. "We... were here," he says with a teasing hand around his newly exposed cock, slick and wet around the tip.

Hannibal grunts quietly at the touch and nods toward the staircase leading to the master bedroom. "Shall we?"

Will shakes his head slowly, determined. "No. I want you to fuck me right here. I want to disgrace your beautiful kitchen - just a little. It could be your gift to me," he says with a brief smile, testing how far Hannibal was willing to take his promise of his special day, and how far he would go to ensure his happiness. 

Hannibal's eyes flash with something devious and darkly alluring as he reaches for the lube he knew he would find in the discarded silk robe and watches Will position himself back down on the countertop - leaning back, fully resting his weight on the surface.

"How long have you entertained fantasies about this, Will?" Hannibal asks mischievously, not in a place to deny just much how much Will's request made his blood boil with lust at the enticing prospect of having Will Graham open - and begging to be filled, splayed out like the finest slice of meat about to be devoured on his kitchen countertop, the altar of his kingdom.

He was the most rare and exquisite of ingredients, a main course just waiting to be prepared with the right seasoning, the right flavor and marinating, until he was tender and ripe for the picking.

Coating himself and two fingers with the lubricant, Hannibal bends between Will's legs and teases his hole open with his fingers, slowly inserting one - then two, slipping into the tight ring of muscles and gently working him open. 

"Stop teasing and maybe I'll tell you," Will pants and ignores Hannibal's psychiatrist indulgences and writhes beneath him, bringing his legs further up toward his chin with the aid of Hannibal's free hand.

"As you wish, my good Will," Hannibal replies darkly and angles his hips just so - while pulling his fingers out and grabbing a firm hold around Will's open legs, circling the tip of his length around Will's hole before slowly sheathing himself fully inside him and beginning an excruciatingly slow and meticulous rhythm.

Will groans at the sensation of being filled, owned and fucked, eyes rolling slightly in his skull as he bends his arms back to hold onto the edge of the island above his head. " _Hghnn_ , faster, please - Hannibal..."

Increasing the pace, building their climaxes in sync - Hannibal wraps long fingers around Will's cock, pumping it with the same intensity as he was fucking his hole, slipping his thumb roughly over the glistening pink tip with every upstroke.

Will's sweat makes him slip a little on the smooth surface, straining to keep a hold of the edge as Hannibal pounds into his ass and angling his cock perfectly to hit the same, sensitive spot every time - a lightning strike of pleasure shuddering through Will's trembling form, sending tremors down his spine and making him clench his muscles around Hannibal.

A few more thrusts and deft flicks of Hannibal's wrists - and Will comes undone with a low, ragged grunt, spilling his come on his stomach and Hannibal's hand, who keeps stroking until his last drop has been spent.

Will uses his remaining strength to find Hannibal's lips again, moaning and shuddering against them as he feels the doctor's thrust become more erratic until he can feel him coming inside him, warm come coating him from the inside and Hannibal shuts his eyes briefly, lost in the moment - lost inside _Will_.

They lie still for a moment, Hannibal's chest expanding against Will's, both their bodies sticky with sweat and come, and lingering remnants of syrup. Not wanting to move, Will drags his fingers through Hannibal's hair, rubbing absentmindedly at the nape of his neck. 

"Mmh," Hannibal mumbles in approval before begrudgingly sliding out and standing upright on slightly unsteady legs. He helps Will down to the floor, who sleepily leans his forehead on Hannibal's shoulder. "That was nice," Will says peacefully. "Very nice."

"I'm glad," Hannibal says while plating a piece of the cooled cake on a plate, together with strawberries soaked in rum and a dash of cream. "And how about this?" he asks while sticking a fork in the cake and making a gesture for Will to taste.

Will opens his mouth obediently and takes the large mouthful between his lips, chewing slowly as a content smile spreads across his face. "Delicious," he says after swallowing, the sweet aftertaste of the moist cake lingering on his tongue. "Thank you, Hannibal," Will says softly. "For everything, the cake and - everything."

Hannibal nods a quiet thank you and puts the fork down to gently cup Will's face with his hands and placing a small, chaste kiss on his lips. "Happy birthday, Will."

After Will has gone for a quick shower, Hannibal stays behind to clean what he could of the mess made in the kitchen and placing the cake in the fridge, surprisingly not finding it much of a bother at all. He shuts off all the lights in the first floor, finds his bathrobe and walks upstairs to ready Will's second (or third?) gift of the night.

Will exits the bathroom with damp hair smelling like lavender soap and his eyes dart from Hannibal's unreadable face to a small, delicately gift wrapped box sitting on the pillow usually reserved for Will. "What's this?" he asks curiously and sits on the bed.

"A present," Hannibal smiles. "I believe it's customary to receive them on your day of birth." 

"You really didn't have to -"

"Indulge me, please. Open it."

Will carefully unwraps the blue ribbon and white paper, revealing a luxurious box lined with velvet, reading the words _'Reflection, Eau de Parfum'_ in elegant script. Will chuckles beneath his breath, realizing what he was holding - that Hannibal had come through on his promise to introduce him to a finer, much finer aftershave, judging by the inherent luxury of the bottle.

"It's called _Reflection_ , by Amouage and I found the scent quite perfect for you," Hannibal says without taking his eyes off the other man. "Although, not that you need it," he finishes with a quiet thought toward how much he enjoyed the natural scent of Will Graham combined with the scent of the fevered illness brewing deep inside. A priceless perfume, in and of it itself.

"This is going to be the most expensive thing in my house, isn't it?" Will smiles warmly toward Hannibal and reads the small printed description of the luxury aftershave on the back of the box. " _The textured florals in the heart notes capture the seductive power of a man's inner strength_. Seductive power?"

"Like I said, perfect for you," Hannibal replies with a nod, not a trace of humor in his expression as Will yawn sleepily and tugs the covers back to lay down, exhaustion wearing down his ability to stay awake much longer.

His head hits the pillow with a content sigh, letting sleep overtake him without worry for bad dreams. If they came, his doctor would chase them away with illumination and heavy anchors, a sanctuary in a stormy reality - like a light house leading the weary sailors home.

"Sleep well, Will," Hannibal whispers into Will's curls, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on his head and wrap the covers tighter around his body. "Your day has yet to begin."

Hannibal listens to the calm breathing in the bed beside him and thinks of how to best surprise Will with arguably the gift that would be most treasured and loved for a small lifetime, no matter what the future held in store for them.

The final gift, a purebred three-month-old Braque d'Auvergne was sleeping obediently in the study downstairs, a red bow tied around its collar and the mashed liver of an impudent Jehova's Witness who knocked on the wrong door slowly being digested in its taunt, fur covered belly.


End file.
